


They grew closer as Queen got older

by unlovelySara



Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Angst, Developing Relationship, M/M, Songfic, because I'm always a slut for angst, especially if it involves these two grandpas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-09-21 06:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17038838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unlovelySara/pseuds/unlovelySara
Summary: WithWho’s Nextby The Who playing in the background, this is the way I imagine Roger and John’s relationship evolving through three entirely different eras.





	1. I’d call that a bargain, the best I ever had

**Author's Note:**

> This is the translation of something I wrote in 2011-2012, so beware: there might be a few mistakes here and there!
> 
> if you wanna have a chat with me about these 4 dorks – and their respective movie counterparts – you can find me  
> -on Tumblr: @stars-open-among-the-lilies  
> -on Instagram: @butcheredfromtime (private profile but I’ll accept you, I promise!)

_John and Roger were very close, being the youngest ones in Queen._  
_In the early days they would always make fun of the stupidest things and laugh constantly._  
_They were best friends, and they grew closer as Queen got older._

**― Brian May**

[⏯ **Now playing: Track #2 _Bargain_ – The Who**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ka_pPf7OqiE)

_**1975**_

  
“Ok guys, we can take a break!”  
Roger let out a relieved sigh, appearing from behind what Brian used to call ‘Roger’s own armour’.  
He left his trusted maple drumsticks upon the stool and headed towards the door that would have lead him from that soundproof room to the most comfortable ambiance of the studio. _Most comfortable_ because there was the vending machine, and that was that.  
Too bad that the vending machine couldn’t offer him some scotch, and that could only mean that he would have to make do with the warm beer that Roy had left there because he needed to add the umpteenth amount of ‘ _Galileo, Galileo_ ’ that by now was coming right out of everybody’s ears.  
The overall situation was simply disastrous: the illustrious Queen vessel was on the verge of sinking miserably, and the last remaining lifeboat was that album that they were currently recording.  
Their fate depended on it, for better or worse.  
And never mind if Freddie insisted on saying that they were the best out there and the world was so fuckin’ dumb for not having realized it yet… his money was yet to come and he couldn’t give a shit if everything would have been inevitably fucked up. He needed the cash to buy his daily bread… and the vodka too, yup.  
Sure, he would have been upset; after all, he wasn’t the asshole that everybody thought he was. He would have regretted throwing everything they had built so painstakingly right down the drain… all that pussy lost along the way, ouch…  
And he would have surely minded not coming across _that_ smile every single day.

_I’d gladly lose me to find you,  
I’d gladly give up all I had_

He furiously shook his head: _what the fuck am I thinking?_ he said to himself, making sure the glass was empty and, therefore, the cause of that delirium.  
Full.  
“Bad sign, Meddows-Taylor…” he muttered, gulping it down in a split second, the eyes closed and the mind focused on not painting _that face_ on his shut eyelids.

* * *

“Gang, fun’s over!”  
Baker came back to his post and stretched his arm to reach the glass of ~~piss~~ beer that he had been forced to leave to its own devices. When his hand caught nothing but air, he snorted in an annoyed way and went back to his previous task.  
From the hidden corner he had found, Roger was taking his time to go back to work and craning his neck to see _him_ when he would have come back.  
Brian’s willowy figure and thick curls paraded in front of his eyes, and Freddie’s long and hasty steps too, but he was nowhere to be seen.  
He preferred not leaning any further – otherwise he would have surely fallen from that bloody wobbly stool – and snorted silently: from behind the drum-kit he couldn’t see a damn thing, and he could be so easily caught! What the fuck was his brain supposed to invent if they had caught him with his _eyes_ in the cookie jar?  
Roy stroked his chin, looking pretty pensive, then pushed a button and got closer to the microphone: “John, let me hear again that bassline you’ve come up with for _Sweet Lady_ …”  
The drummer jumped on the spot, barely holding himself on that piece of rotten wood that had the regal task of sustaining his bum, and took a closer look.  
Even though he was a bit far from him, Roger was able to sense the focused expression – at the same time a bit lost – that John always put on every time he played, an expression that literally made him _lose his mind_.  
Deaks, as everybody at that point used to call him, had this way of squinting his eyes and curling his lips into a half-smile – just enough to let ‘em catch a glimpse of sunlight – that Roger couldn’t do anything but adore him, even if he was forced to do it in secret.  


_To win you I’d stand naked, stoned and stabbed_

The bass player stopped the chords with a hand and, taking the headphones off with the other, sought the producer’s opinion.  
“I think it’s really good! You could use it, right?”  
Brian shared a knowing look with Freddie, who smiled in a smug way; the deal was done.  
“Sounds good to me but… where’s Roger?”

* * *

Head down, Roger marched past Brian’s amused gaze and Freddie’s stern look.  
“Honey, thank you so much for getting off that little golden arse of yours and gracing us with your presence!” the singer didn’t waste any time in throwing him a remark, making him snap.  
“How funny, I was going to say the same thing!” he went near his bandmate, just a couple of inches between them.  
“You know bloody well that there’s room for just a prima donna, and it happens to be that she’s standing right in front of you!”  
“Well, instead of _prima donna_ , I’d surely use _pain in the arse_!”  
“Watch it, Rog; I’m still holding the tape of your goddamn song about shagging a wheel at gunpoint, and it could _accidentally_ do a somersault into the loo!”  
For a moment the drummer faltered, but immediately resumed to stare at him with more rage than before.  
“You’d never dare-”  
“Ooooh, that’s what you think! Wanna make a bet? Try me and I won’t disappoint you!” Freddie gave him a big grin, all pleased with himself.  
In the meantime Brian had witnessed the whole performance that the two quarrelers had put up and reaffirmed his belief that those two were nothing but roosters in heat, imprisoned in the same henhouse. John offered him a little smile and focused again on his instrument, the fingers slowly plucking its chords.  
“Well, fuck off! You can forget other ‘ _Bismillah, oooh_ ’, you bloody prick! I’m fuckin’ sick of playing the eunuch part!” the drummer kicked a chair that was standing nearby and stormed off while Freddie, after giving him his warmest middle finger, took a seat in front of the piano.  
Still livid with rage, Roger headed for the drums with long strides, but was stopped by John.  
“You could really sense your absence, Rog… there was an awful silence!” his friend smiled at him and the other man, genuinely heartened, could only return the gesture – his step much lighter and the heart in his throat. 

_I’d pay any price just to win you,  
surrender my good life for bad_

* * *

The recording studio was pretty much deserted, except for the buzzing amps and that single light kept on inside the booth. Roger silently put a cup of tea near John and went to sit not so far from him, while the other man thanked him with a smile.  
“Was it a new song?” he asked him, and the bassist nodded from behind the mug.  
“Yes, I’ve already begun to put down some lyrics…”  
“Really? That’s great! Then what are you waiting for? Let me hear it!”  
John almost choked himself on the tea, coughing and blushing to the roots of his hair.  
“Ro-Rog… You know I can’t… _I can’t sing_.” he cut it short, placing the cup on the table and hiding his face with his long hair.  
In doing so, he hadn’t been able to see the little smile that had just tugged at the drummer’s lips, moved by that gesture.  
Roger wanted so badly to gently brush his hair away from his face and caress him, to tell him that all those annoying fangirls that bugged him on a daily basis were simply stupid and blind, because they still hadn’t realized how beautiful _he_ was, how wonderful was the way _his_ lips creased into a smile for every slightest thing, how mesmerizing was _his_ carefree laughter and how sweet _his_ voice, as delicate as a feather.

_I know I’m worth nothing without you_

He wanted to tell him so badly, but he didn’t: he just ruffled his hair with a chuckle.  
“Come on, don’t be like that! It’s just you and me – you wouldn’t happen to be ashamed, right?”  
John raised his eyes and let them rest on the drummer: in that room it was indeed just the two of them, and by now they were way too _friendly_ with each other to give him the pretext of becoming embarrassed for any possible false note he could make.  
“Ok, so be it! But then you don’t have to tell me that I didn’t warn you, understood?” he admonished him with an accusatory index, while Roger raised his hands like a sign of surrender. That gesture made the bassist burst out laughing, who then adjusted the instrument on his legs and cleared his voice.  
“ _You’re my sunshine, and I want you to know that my feelings are true… I really love you, you’re my best friend…_ ”  
The drummer found himself unknowingly holding his breath: _those words… does he mean that… he… me…_  
“Rog, is everything alright? You don’t look well… I had told you that it was all at your own risk!” John chuckled, and the other man could barely hold back a loud ‘go to hell’.  
“I… yes, yes, everything’s peachy… I liked it a lot…”  
“Well, thank you very much, but could you please avoid complimenting me with that face? You know, you don’t sound like you actually mean it…”  
“Oi – sod off, Deaks.”  
John burst again into laughter, but stopped abruptly when his friend posed him a question that left him a bit perplexed.  
“Who is it for?”  
“Veronica… wasn’t that clear?” 

_And like one and one don’t make two_

Roger gulped, swallowing down enough saliva to put a pissed-off lama to shame.  
“Yes, yes, of course! What a silly question, hehe!” he let out a hysterical laugh – a kind of hysteria that even the quiet Deacon was able to notice.  
_Of course, I’m an idiot – it’s Veronica who’s his best friend, huh? Come on, Roger, you’re a bloody moron… he’s also recently become a father and you think he’d flirt with a fag like you? Pathetic…_  
“Rog, are you sure you’re alright? I’m asking you because it’s been some time ever since I noticed something was a bit off with you…” John went on talking, moving closer to him with his stool. The drummer instinctively backed off a bit, but nevertheless tried to relax.  
“Deaks, what are we?” he spoke in a low voice, but not low enough to not make his friend hear him and startle for that unexpected question.  
“What… what do you mean?”  
“I mean… You and me, what the fuck are we? Acquaintances? Friends? Colleagues? Best pals? Just asking, ‘cause I’m having a bit of a difficult time with understanding what’s happening…”

_One and one make one_

“Come on, Rog! You can’t be mad because you’re not the best friend I’m talking about in this song! I knew I shouldn’t have played it…”  
“Yes, I _am_ fuckin’ mad! Why shouldn’t I be, huh? You spend most of your time with that woman and, when you’re not with her, you’re just over there – writing silly little songs for her! That’s bonkers…”  
“It’s called ‘ _love_ ’, you dumbass.”  
“Oh, to hell with it! Don’t come here to tell me the fuckin’ fairytale about love and blah-blah-blah, because then I’d tell you to fuck off, John! Don’t fuckin’ try to sell me this shitty excuse!”  
The bassist’s only answer was to jump off his stool and step a few paces away.  
“What’s gotten into you?! Did you take some kind of strange shit?! You’re scaring me! I’m not staying here a fuckin’ minute longer!”  
That said, he started to leave but the other man called him.  
“No, stop! Please…”  
Roger sighed: saying that ‘ _please_ ’ had already been a huge undertaking that now would increase to the extreme.  
“ _Don’t go_.”  
John’s steps stopped in the doorway, and he went back to sit in his place. He couldn’t explain why he had obeyed to the other man’s plea: it had been more like a mechanical gesture. _Just mechanical, of course._  
This was followed by a couple of minutes spent in deep silence – almost a religious one – and Roger didn’t quite like religion.  
“Thanks.” he muttered, his long hair making him look like a little girl in her primary school years.  
John ignored his feeble voice: “You asked me what we are, right? You want the truth? We’re two idiots, that’s what we are: we want an exclusive relationship with each other and we can’t seem to understand that we already have that… We don’t need to erase everything that surrounds us, Roger: the two of us are so close – even a silly goose would get it! – and it’s not by wiping out other ‘ _distractions_ ’ – or ‘ _wastes of time_ ’, as you call ‘em – that we could fix everything, strengthen our bond… We’re already doing fine, don’t you think?”  
The drummer clenched his fists until the knuckles became white and, trying to suppress the strong desire to burst into tears, looked at him straight in the eye – he had an icier glare than usual and tried to keep his voice calm.  
“John, I’m not okay with it… I really can’t do this anymore – _I love you_.”

_And I’m looking for that free ride to me_

He just stood there, staring at him and waiting for any kind of reaction: it could have been a ‘go fuck yourself, you fairy!’ spoken in between laughs or a well-delivered slap – he didn’t mind.  
But John remained silent, and Roger couldn’t help but hating that kind of silence to death, because he would have gladly taken a bullet if that meant being actually able to read the complicated mind of mr. ‘I-might-be-quiet-but-I’m-actually-devising-a-plan-to-take-over-the-world.’  
And then – when hope had almost gone down the loo and the drummer had looked away – he had finally talked and, typical of him, certainly not to throw out a bunch of random words.  
“I love you too, Roger, but not in the way you mean it. Or rather, not _as much_ as you mean. Mine’s not an _exclusive_ love – that’s not the way I expect feelings to be.”  
Taylor stared at him with wide eyes – ridiculously big – and, when he was finally able to catch his breath, stammered in a confused way: “… when were you going to tell me?”  
His friend leaned on his elbows, laying back on the chair.  
“Just the right amount of time for you to make your move, if the opportunity ever arose and if there ever was a reason for you to do it… I’m not a stunning brunette and no, let’s just say that homosexuality wasn’t included in my agenda. It took a while for me to realize what was actually happening.”  
Roger collapsed into his office chair: “… and now what the fuck are we supposed to do?”  
“I don’t know, Rog. I don’t know.”  
“Christ, I’m fucked. _F-u-c-k-e-d_ , understood? I spend months and months chasing you and, when I can finally reach you, you disappear in front of my eyes! That’s simply crazy, John! I… I can’t believe it, it makes me sick…”  
John’s features twitched into a sad expression, but the man was capable of concealing the dejection and, after taking a deep sigh, leaned towards Roger and took his hands in his own.  
“I’m not telling you that we can’t do nothing about it… It’s just – it won’t be _exactly_ like you want it to be, but it will be close enough, I promise.”  
“Do you think it would be good enough for me, John? Do you really think _I_ could live with it?” the drummer’s voice had cracked again and he realized that, before long, he wouldn’t have been able to hold back the tears in front of him.  
_How fucking pathetic am I?_  
“I didn’t say that… I can’t know what you need, but I’m your best friend and I know you a little bit, right?” 

_I’m looking for you_

“Oh, fuck this!” Roger blurted out and, thus said, took his face in his hands and kissed him.  
John was caught off guard by that gesture but, unconsciously, his lips soon curled into the tiniest smile: somehow, deep inside of him, he had always known that sooner or later this was bound to happen, and that could only delight him.  
In that exact moment there was no Freddie, Brian, Veronica or Robert around: it was just the two of them, and Roger’s lips that felt so incredibly smooth and sweet.  
He chased away those thoughts and locked his lips to the ones of the _angel_ that was kissing him.  
_It was the best bargain he ever had._

* * *

_“… John?”_  
_“Yes?”_  
_“I’m sorry: it’s not a silly little song…”_  
_John smiled._  
“I know.” 


	2. When my fist clenches, crack it open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With _Who’s Next_ by The Who playing in the background, this is the way I imagine Roger and John’s relationship evolving through three entirely different eras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the translation of something I wrote in 2011-2012, so beware: there might be a few mistakes here and there!
> 
> if you wanna have a chat with me about these 4 dorks – and their respective movie counterparts – you can find me  
> -on Tumblr: @stars-open-among-the-lilies  
> -on Instagram: @butcheredfromtime (private profile but I’ll accept you, I promise!)
> 
>  
> 
> p.s. David is David Mallet, the director of _Radio Ga Ga_ ’s videoclip (and also of the video for _I Want To Break Free_!); Meg is a fictional character of my own devising  
> p.p.s. “marmite miner” is a slang term used for gay men taken from [here](https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_LGBT_slang_terms) 😎

_John and Roger were very close, being the youngest ones in Queen._  
_In the early days they would always make fun of the stupidest things and laugh constantly._  
_They were best friends, and they grew closer as Queen got older._

**― Brian May**

[⏯ **Now playing: Track #8 _Behind Blue Eyes_ – The Who**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dMrImMedYRo)

_**1984**_

  
John ran his hand through his curls, but took it out immediately, feeling really grossed out: sweat oozed out of him, those spotlights were almost scorching – not to mention those frickin’ leather trousers! He could swear he wasn’t able to feel his-  
“Holy fuck, guys, I can’t feel my bollocks anymore!” Roger shouted, walking like a cowboy to prevent the trousers from smoothing his family jewels.  
_Precisely._  
The bass player smiled: he had been aware of the blond’s bluntness for quite some time but, even after all those years, he was still a bit taken aback when the other man displayed his foul language.  
Of course, he wasn’t mr. Charm Academy either, but he resembled the ideal of the perfect British man more than what mr. Cornwall could ever dream of doing – that was for sure.  
In the meantime the director’s assistant – a tiny, scrawny girl with a long face – walked past him, stopping just a few feet away.  
He saw her scooping all the feathers that Freddie’s boot kept on losing, despite the tons of hairspray that had been sprayed over it: the thought of the singer wearing a stuffed ostrich made John chuckle. On second thought, that wouldn’t have been something so different from the reality.  
The girl quickly stood up with all the feathers clutched at her chest and walked past the drummer, who felt compelled to land a huge slap on her butt.  
That sudden touch made her startle and the feathers – that she had painstakingly picked up until a few seconds before – flew all over the place.

_No one knows what it’s like  
To be the bad man_

Roger seemed to not have noticed the young woman’s trembling hands and, unfazed, he stood beside her, putting his hands on her hips.  
John rolled his eyes and brought himself to do something: he liked the poor girl – she worked her ass off from dawn ‘til dusk and sure as hell didn’t deserve to be also bullied by that moron of his _best friend_.  


_To be the sad man_

“C’mon, Rog, leave this poor lamb in pain alone…” he tried to push him aside, but the older man kept on holding on to the girl that, noticeably terrified, couldn’t bring herself to stop shaking like a leaf.  
“Deaks, can’t you see we’re busy? Piss off and leave _us_ alone, for fuck’s sake!”  
“Did you ask the young lady if she agrees with this decision of yours?”  
The drummer seemed to think about it for a couple of seconds, his gaze shifting from the victim to the one that by now he considered his _ex-best friend_.  
“Why, do I even need to ask her?” he snapped, pulling her even closer – his erection by now pressing on the girl’s jeans.  


_Behind blue eyes_

“Sorry…” the bassist started, going near him.  
“For what?”  
“For this.” he blurted out, throwing an uppercut on his nose that sent him to the ground.

* * *

Roger could swear he had seen a lot of tits doing a Ring a Ring o’ Roses under his nose, but when he moved his hands to grab a few of them he realized he was just being dazed because of John’s punch.  
He didn’t speak too much, that much was true, but he was good at taking action – he had to give him some credit.  
“Well, did you cool your spirits?” the bassist teased him, handing him an icepack that Roger took with a grumble.  
He stood up, all tottering because of his drunken stupor, and went to sit on the first chair he found nearby, while the bass player kept on staring at him with his arms folded and a blank expression on his face.  
“The idea of making a move on the assistant to make me jealous was a real stroke of genius… Really – how can I say? – _classy_.”  


_And no one knows what it’s like  
To be hated_

The drummer flinched but instead pretended to be just committed to making that anti-aesthetical swelling go away.  
“Who gives a fuck about you…”  
“Maybe _you_? And quite literally, even”  
Roger cursed himself for handing that comment to his bandmate on a silver platter and gave him the evil eye.  
“Listen, Roger, I really can’t-”  
“No, _you_ listen to me, you bloody wanker! Who do you think you are? You really believe my whole world revolves around you? Well, I’m so sorry to disappoint you, but it sure as hell ain’t like that! _I_ have a child! Do you get it? A _c-h-i-l-d!_ ”  
“I already have four of them, for that matter…” John remarked all laconic, not worrying too much about the mocking smile that was tugging at his lips.  
By now the drummer had lost his patience and so, in a blatant display of his distinctive bouts of rage, he grabbed him by the collar.  
“John, we can’t go on like this! _We can’t_ , understood? We have to quit being utter marmite miners! Or better, you’re the one who has to stop haunting me!”  
“I did what now? May I remind you that it was _you_ the one who picked me up nine years ago, you absolute dumbass?!”  


_To be faded  
To telling only lies_

“Because I couldn’t stand anymore the thought of not having you all to myself!” the other man growled back, clinging to the bassist’s lips in a desperate way.  
John immediately moved, his typical unfazed expression on his face: he didn’t like the fact that Roger could think of using him to his liking, according to whatever mood he was in that particular day.  
“See? You’re… you’re impossible, I’ll never understand you!” the drummer snapped, barely hiding his disappointment for his lover’s reaction.  
“It was one of the contract clauses, if you remember: you will never be able to have me all to yourself, I’m not made for this kind of relationship…” the other man dismissed his reproach, avoiding to meet his gaze.  
“I know, you don’t need to repeat me that every fuckin’ time, Deaks!”  
“Apparently yes, because it seems you really can’t get it into that stupid head of yours…”  
“You’re a piece of shit.”  
“And you’re gutless.”  
“I wonder why I like you!”  
“I prefer not asking myself that, it’s better to forget.” the bassist cut it short, walking away.

* * *

_But my dreams  
They aren’t as empty_

__

Freddie came while humming a couple of verses of _Radio Ga Ga_ , a packet of Lucky Strike already in his hands.  
Roger was sitting on the steps of the studios for about five minutes, intent on fiddling with a lit Marlboro from which he was rarely taking a puff.  
His friend drew near to him and brought his cigarette closer to his own one, lighting it and blowing a couple of smoke rings in his direction.  
“The vodka was just what we needed – right, darling?”  
Roger kept quiet, not even trying to give him one of his half-smiles that he always had ready to use.  


_As my conscious seems to be_

“Oh, by the way! You’ve been an utter jerk with Meg, David’s assistant… you made her run for the hills! Not cool, Rogey Porgy, not cool at all!” the singer teased him again, admonishing him with an accusatory index.  
“And she wasn’t the only one that I scared off…” the other man grumbled, not noticing the playful gesture that his friend was making.  


_I have hours, only lonely_

Freddie sized him up for a nanosecond – just the amount of time his intuition needed to work his magic.  
“It’s about Deaks, huh? What happened?”  
Roger shrugged: he had always suspected that _that frickin’ prima donna_ knew something – unlike Brian, poor innocent soul! – but he didn’t like the idea of talking to him about the whole mess.  
But that day he actually wanted to get a load off his chest and so, showing off the best mask of indifference he could muster up, he finally spilled the beans.  
Besides, Freddie was _in the same business_ too, huh?  
“Well, I… I think it’s over.”  
“What do you mean with ‘over’?”  
The drummer’s eyes almost popped out of his head, and then he proceeded to give him a withering look.  
“ _Over_ meaning that _it is over_ , Fred! Over, kaputt, K.O., Game Over – understood? I’m done with him, DONE!” he growled with anger, taking the last puff of smoke with his eyes all watery because of the rage that was consuming him from the inside.  
“Huh, really? If you weren’t crying, I’d say you were just joking!”  
“I. Am. Not. Crying.” the other man stammered, quickly drying the tear that had escaped from behind his Ray-Ban sunglasses.  
“Oh, you’re right: you sweat through your eyes, correct?”  
“Listen, Fred, if today you’re dying to show off your Open Mic Night repertoire, you’d better find somebody else to act as your audience – I’m not in the right mood, not at all!”  
“Or you’re going to do _what_ , exactly? Beat the shit out of me and then bawl like a shrinking violet? Well, what a fuckin’ coincidence – you’re already doing it!”  
“… Alright, I get it – today I don’t deserve your understanding! At least ignore me, please! You could at least do this, right?” the drummer begged him, ashes staining his fingers.  
“ _And just complain, when you’re not there_ … You’re ending up like those kids, Rog.” Freddie turned around to stare at him in a derisory way, then focused again on his cigarette “You’re becoming just like them: limp and without an ounce of substance or ambition… Had I been in Johnny’s shoes, I would have told you to fuck off a long time ago.”  


_My love is vengeance_

Hearing that, the blonde man stiffened and looked at him dumbfounded, finally throwing away the cigarette butt that was crumbling between his fingers.  
“Oh, come on! Admit it: are you doing something concrete to not let him go?” the singer piled it on, smiling all pleased with himself when he saw his friend shaking his head, without even having the slightest amount of courage to look him in the eye.  
“Deaks is such a nice guy and together, the two of you – and I’m not exaggerating – really border on perfection… If I found a gem like him, I wouldn’t let him slip away so easily, you know?”  
Roger blushed to the roots of his hair, his throat suddenly so dry.  


_That’s never free_

“And… and what should I do?”  
“Take you fuckin’ glasses off and get off your high horse, _Legendary Drummer of Cornwall_.”

* * *

When Roger got to the parking lot – his hands in the pockets – he found his friend almost inside the Porsche’s bonnet, intent on rummaging through cables, spark plugs and what not.  
“Need a hand?”  
The bass player raised his eyes but then looked down almost immediately: that brief glance had been enough to make the bile run through his veins.  
_Great, exactly what I needed!_  
“No, thank you, everything’s alright.”  
“Didn’t know that towing your car all the way home was the latest fashion! Because that’s how you’ll go there, right?”  
John couldn’t hide the little smile that he had unconsciously made: it was unbelievable how that cheap humour – of which the drummer was a great expert – was always able to put them on his face.  
“Apparently yes – any problem with that?” he retorted, pretending again to check the pistons. It was obviously just an excuse to make sure that his air of _gravitas_ , that semblance of seriousness didn’t crack as soon as he made eye contact with the other man.  


_No one knows what it’s like_

“Oh, well… No. No, not all.”  
“Excellent, glad to hear it.” he cut it short, closing the bonnet with a bang and rushing to the driver seat, flaunting a certain nonchalance while he started the engine. Or, better to say, while he tried to.  
“… so I’m not bothering you if I smoke a cigarette here, right?” the drummer went on, leaning against the wall and trying to light his usual Marlboro.  
_Fuck it – back off! Get out of my life, you goddamn peroxide dumbass!_  
“No, you’re welcome! No trouble at all.”  
“Great…” the other gave him a sneering grin, throwing the worn-out lighter behind him and smoking with his usual superstar attitude.  
After several attempts at starting the engine – all irremediably failed – even John Deacon, saint as he was, lost his patience.  
He quickly got off the Porsche and, skipping all the pleasantries, planted himself in front of the drummer with his arms crossed – in his eyes a spark of rage that, Roger was absolutely sure, was about to trigger an explosion beyond anything he could imagine.  
“Listen – are you almost done with that cigarette or what?!”  
“You said it yourself that I could stay here, theref-”  
“ _Therefore_ my ass, Rog! Bugger off right now or I’ll kick the shit out of your sorry ass, understood?”  
Roger’s response was to take off his sunglasses and, raising his hands like a sign of surrender, to approach him with small steps.  
“What about ‘ _bugger off_ ’ don’t you understand, Roger? Do I have to spell it out?!”  
“Deaks, come on, let’s cut all the bull… We’re acting like silly little boys – couldn’t we leave everything behind us and try to start aga-”  
John finally lost his patience and attacked him, throwing punches in every direction, while his friend was struggling to hold him still. After avoiding a significant number of hooks and uppercuts, he was finally able to immobilize him, while the other kept on squirming and struggling to free himself from that unwelcome embrace.  
“Go to hell and try to stay down there, alright?!” the bassist hissed, trying to slip away.  
“I’m already there, I’M ALREADY THERE!” Roger shouted back, his voice already cracking.  


_To feel these feelings_

John froze, panting and staring at him with wide eyes.  
“I’m already there, John. _We’re already there_.” the other man coughed, holding him tighter and tighter “Let’s figure this out together – would you like it? We can do it, we can… together, the two of us, we can make it out!”  
“N-no…” the bass player suppressed a sob into the other man’s shoulder.  
“John, I…”  
“Shut up, shut up! It’s your fault if we are where we are… I don’t wanna make it out – _I don’t want it!_ And it’s all your goddamn fault, you’re a cunt and I hate you… _I hate you_ , dammit!”  
When those words finished to come out of his mouth, John’s famous self-control had already collapsed and made room for the copious tears that by now were streaming down his face – a face prematurely marked by a few wrinkles.  
Roger held him tighter, in a hug that – surprisingly – exuded tenderness, rapture and urgency.  
“I need you, John. I’m just sorry I’ve chosen the wrong way to show you how I felt, but I promise you that, from now on, I’ll try to change.”  
“Promises are not enough – I don’t need your fuckin’ promises! It’s been nine years and we still keep going on like this, I can’t do it anymore! You’re tearing me apart, Roger, can’t you see?!” the other man screamed again, gasping because he couldn’t breathe properly but also not trying to wiggle out of the drummer’s grip.  


_Like I do_

“But _I_ need _you_ ! Really, John. I really need you: I need your simplicity, your way of being just yourself, your stability… I need you more than any other thing or person in the whole world! You have to believe me when I say this, please…”  
The bassist sniffled and stole a glance at him – his eyes still watery.  
“Please, believe me…” Roger whispered again, caressing his nape to calm him down just a little bit.  
After a couple of minutes of silence, his partner timidly looked at him.  
“I can… I can try… Will it be enough?” he asked, trembling under the gentle touch of his hand.  


_And I blame you_

Roger attempted a tight smile, his voice breaking with emotion.  
“Everything’s going to be alright, you’ll see… We’ll make it, this time as well.”  
“This time as well?”  
“This time as well.”  
The drummer rested his forehead against the one of his friend, seeing himself in his eyes, dark as the moors: another small, minuscule step and he would have reached the place where the land and the sky become a single thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a verse taken from _Behind Blue Eyes_ by The Who, whose link I posted right above the fanfiction.
> 
> I’m so overwhelmed by the huge amount of kudos and comments the first chapter got... I’m so glad to see that this pairing is getting the attention it truly deserves and to know that you guys – for some obscure reason – seem to like the way I write about these two actual angels... also, thank you so much for all the kind messages you sent me on Tumblr – you really made my day 🌸
> 
> Thanks to whoever will read this/give kudos/leave a review... and long live Joger/Dealor! ✨


	3. I’ll sing my heart out to the infinite sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With _Who’s Next_ by The Who playing in the background, this is the way I imagine Roger and John’s relationship evolving through three entirely different eras.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the translation of something I wrote in 2011-2012, so beware: there might be a few mistakes here and there!
> 
> if you wanna have a chat with me about these 4 dorks – and their respective movie counterparts – you can find me  
> -on Tumblr: @stars-open-among-the-lilies  
> -on Instagram: @butcheredfromtime (private profile but I’ll accept you, I promise!)

_John and Roger were very close, being the youngest ones in Queen._  
_In the early days they would always make fun of the stupidest things and laugh constantly._  
_They were best friends, and they grew closer as Queen got older._

**― Brian May**

[⏯ **Now playing: Track #5 _The Song Is Over_ – The Who**](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PpE5i0ad7nU)

_**1992**_

  
The roar of the whole stadium seemed to chase him as far as the backstage area, and Roger found himself suddenly overwhelmed by an unrestrained craving for killing himself with the biggest amount of booze he could find.  
And he could have easily succeeded in doing so, hadn’t he caught sight of a silhouette he knew really well, leaning against a wall with its head down and the knees a bit bent.  
The drummer approached him with his heart in his throat, and that movement was enough to startle the other man, still intent on rubbing his temples.  
“Roger, what are you doing here? Weren’t you planning on getting away as soon as the concert ended?”  
The other man nodded and gave him a half-smile.  
“That was the plan, I admit it, but then I changed idea… You, on the other hand, how are you doing? I was worried you weren’t feeling well…” he muttered, especially on the last sentence.  
_I was worried you weren’t feeling well…_  
Roger blushed: it had been a while since he had learnt to express his feelings, that was true, but he would never get used to it… and he would certainly not start doing it with John.  
A tender smile lit up the bassist’s face, making him shiver: he had fairly deep creases on his face, but the sweetness irradiating from the line of his lips and the genuineness of his gaze perfectly corresponded to the same qualities he had possessed even back in 1971.  
“Oh,” he said “I didn’t want to make you worry… I’m just a bit tired, that’s all.”  
“The truth is you’re out of shape, Deaks… Just admit it!” his friend teased him, while John couldn’t help but burst into laughter.  
“ _Touché_ , Rog. You’re right: old Deaks got really rusty – this kind of things, they’re not for me…” 

_The song is over_

The drummer was quick on understanding where the discussion was leading them, and careful not to humor his friend.  
“You know, I was just thinking… Would you like to come to my dressing room?”  
At those words, both men turned bright red and Roger cursed himself for not being born without a tongue (but a second later he had already gone back on his word).  
“… so the two of us could have a proper chat, would you like it? It’s been some time ever since we had a nice, little talk!” he tried to correct himself, giving himself away because he was nervous and embarrassed.  
John mulled over the real meaning of ‘proper chat’ and, after realizing that those words apparently didn’t have a double meaning, accepted his proposal and followed him. 

* * *

_It’s all behind me_

Once inside his dressing room, Roger cursed himself for the sad mood that was surrounding them: in the realm of his daydreams – perfect for a smitten sissy – he had pictured a pleasant chit-chat like the old days, a few caresses and a good glass of Bordeaux, but instead he had to settle for that deafening mutism that had taken possession of both him and his friend.  
Luckily for him, it was John that interrupted it, letting himself reason almost distractedly.  
“You did a good job, you and Brian. There’s a lot of people that impressed me… For instance, take miss Stansfield and George Michael: now, that’s quite the couple! Really, really great.”  
Hearing the word ‘ _couple_ ’, Roger shook himself out of the trance he had fallen into, but mentally thanked him for saving him from all that embarrassing silence.  
“Yeah, did you see that? And Metallica and Guns n’ Roses were awesome too!”  
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the bass player wrinkling his nose a little bit, and so he hurried to clarify himself: “Yeah, Deaks, I know – they’re not your thing…”  
The other man chuckled: “I’m a bit of an asshole, I know. But… well, I must admit it: I liked Extreme, they’re a bunch of talented fellas.”  
_And not just them…_ he thought, trying to hide as well as he could all the sadness that had been following him silently for months.  
Roger seemed to have grasped the meaning of that melancholic expression, but did his best to not mind it.  
“I don’t know for how much longer I’ll be able to stay…” the bassist spoke up again, sighing “I must go to the airport later, get the departures schedule and, if I can, buy the ticket as well.”

_I should have known it_

The drummer deliberately ignored that last sentence and rapidly blocked his path.  
“Just the time for one song, okay? The last song listened together…”  
The other man sized him up a bit perplexed, but then his face split into a smile.  
“That’s okay by me.”  
Roger didn’t need him to say it twice: he reached the table in a flash and started searching through the few CDs that he had brought in the dressing room but, as he browsed them in his trembling hands, he realized that none of them could be to John’s liking.  
“Deaks, err – I… There’s no funky CDs here…” he let out an embarrassed chuckle, while his friend gently smiled at him, reaching the dressing table where all the albums were quickly piling up.  
John examined the covers and finally chose one.  
“This one will do.” he declared, inserting the album into the CD player and then sinking onto the little couch.  
The sudden guitar crescendo made Roger frown but, as soon as the drums began to beat time in such a powerful way, he startled: _Achilles Last Stand_ by Led Zeppelin.  
John had been able to surprise him for the umpteenth time, choosing one of the lesser known albums made by a band that had literally made his heart burst fifteen years before.

_She tried to find me_

Nevertheless, he still couldn’t explain the reason why the bass player had chosen that certain track: was it because of its considerable length? That would have been a hell of a tender gesture, coming from him… A gesture à la John, precisely.  
“I liked the title…” the other man suddenly clarified, almost perceiving his mental wanking, and Roger couldn’t do anything but blush.  
He sat near the bassist and both remained silent, until Plant began to sing the first verse, and that instantly obtained the effect of making the blood of both men freeze in their veins.  
They simultaneously turned to face each other and both started to mumble incoherent phrases – in the end, they were just a constant repetition of each other’s name – stopping immediately after.  
They didn’t have anything concrete to say to each other, and both men laughed at that embarrassing situation and their infinite awkwardness.  
Roger finally stood up and made his way to the minibar, pulling out a couple of beers – just the right amount of cold. He gave one to his friend and sipped his own one leaning against the cabinet.  
“A treatment befitting His Royal Highness, huh?”  
“You said it yourself! Besides, ain’t I Roger Meddows Taylor in the flesh?”  
“Ah, your modesty is still going strong” John smiled, taking a long swig from his can.  
“It’s called ‘ _objectivity_ ’, Deaks: I find it strange that you still didn’t learn it… after all these years!”  
“You know how it is: when you’ve had a friend who used to go around tellin’ everybody that he was related to the god Mercury himself, it’s a bit inevitable that cynicism takes possession of you…”  
At those words Roger laughed heartily, immediately siding with him.

_When I walked in through the door  
Thought it was me I was looking for_

“Do you think Freddie’s looking at us right now?”  
The drummer had asked it out of the blue, without taking his eyes off the can he was holding.  
John had jumped on his seat but, trying to contain the whirlwind of mixed feelings that that sentence had provoked inside him, he then attempted to answer with his usual aplomb.  
“I… I think that Freddie looks at us _at all times_ , Rog.”  
His face split in a melancholic smile and went on: “He started doing it from the exact moment he stopped breathing…”  
“He never stopped breathing, John.”  
The harshness with which he had spoken made startle the drummer himself, who hastened to make things right.  
“As long as there’s people who are going to remember him and keep on singing his – _our_ – songs, he’ll never stop doing it.”  
John smiled again, pleased by the sensitive side that his friend always showed him: he was aware of being the only one who could witness it, and this thing could only make him happy.  
“You said exactly what I think… In a hundred years I’ll sink into oblivion – although I do believe that I’ll start doing it as of tomorrow – but Freddie will be still riding high.”  
Those words deeply hurt Roger, making him hold his breath without even realizing it.  
“Don’t joke about it.”  
“About what – Freddie still being amazingly famous and popular in a century?”  
“Don’t play dumb with me, Deaks – you totally got what I meant to say…”  
The bass player rested his face on one hand and looked at him with a tiny smile on his lips: “Rog, we both perfectly know that it’s going to be like that… It’s the truth, innit?”  
Roger stubbornly kept silent, a gesture that John took as a permission to go on with his observations.  
“Come on, I didn’t even show my face when the two of you decided to establish this tribute! And obviously nobody even noticed it…”  
“Look, John – if your intention is to piss me off, I’m glad to inform you that you’re doing a great fuckin’ job with it!” Roger abruptly turned in his direction and shot him a furious look “Sometimes I wonder the fuck you have inside that brain of yours! If nobody cared about you, how would you explain the frickin’ standing ovation they all did before, when you were speaking?!”  
“When I _tried_ to speak, if anything…” his friend promptly corrected him, giving him a sly smile à la Cheshire Cat.  
“Well, let me tell you, you’re just a bloody idiot if you keep on talking while a huge crowd is literally burying you under an ocean of thunderous applause! It only makes sense that nobody could hear a fuckin’ thing coming out of yer mouth!”  
“That was the emotion, Roger… If I hadn’t talked right away, I would have run for the hills…” 

_She was the first song I ever sang  
But it stopped as soon as it began_

They stood silent for a while, until the drummer finally got enough courage to continue the conversation.  
“Returning to the stage – how did it feel?”  
John gazed into space for a few seconds, looking for the tiniest signal sent to him by _somebody_ , but then he shook himself out of it and cleared his throat.  
“Really weird… Beautiful, by all means, but weird. I seemed to have him in front of me at any given moment…”  
“Me too – could’ve sworn I’d see him turning up from the backstage at any minute… the eyes are great deceivers.” Roger added distractedly, also lost in the search of a face that he hadn’t seen in months.  
“… and memories are sharp blades, and hurt so badly.”

* * *

“… and anyway, between Brian and me, I don’t know who should win the crown for ‘Kitsch King’, you know?”  
After a couple of minutes of heavy silence, John had come up with that comment, and Roger immediately bent over with laughter.  
“Bullshit! Brian’s waistcoat really was something unsightly – even worse than my infamous denim suit… The one from _Who Wants To Live Forever_ , remember?”  
John gave him a slight nod and kept quiet, and the drummer did the same.

_Our love is over_

“We did it for you, Rog…” the younger man finally spoke up, almost lost in thought.  
At those words his friend turned towards him with a questioning look.  
“What?”  
“Dressing like shit…” John let out a chuckle, and Roger promptly followed him.  
“Look at yourself – you’re beautiful.”  
Those words immediately made the drummer blush to the roots of his hair and, without an hesitation, he belittled them.  
“John, come on, don’t give me this horseshit…”  
“Two angels in the same band; the hell did I do to actually deserve this?” his friend ignored him, standing up and getting closer to him.  
“John, you-you’re not leaving already, right?” the other man stammered, already in the midst of a panic attack.

_It’s all behind me_

The bassist smiled at him tenderly, and then buried his face in Roger’s hair.  
“I’ll remember this scent forever…” he murmured, breathing in the mix of shampoo, smoke and sweat that by now was inebriating him.  
In the meantime Roger stood literally petrified, with bated breath and his light eyes fixed upon the wall.  
“There’s still time for another song, I’m beggin’ you…”  
John pressed a soft kiss in his hair and pulled himself a little bit away, giving him another one of his smiles full of gentleness.  
“There’s always time for a song, Rog… But we already listened it and now it’s time for me to-”  
“No, please, don’t say it! Don’t say it, I don’t wanna hear ya!”  
The drummer had covered his ears and, at the same time, started to shout in despair.  
“Roger, please… don’t be like this, you hurt me…”  
“ _I_ hurt you?! Excuse me, and what am I supposed to say? You’re leaving me behind – that’s what you’re doing, right? As if twenty years didn’t mean a goddamn thing to you! You’re throwing everything we had down the loo… _everything_ !”  
“Don’t-don’t be like this… you knew that sooner or later the time would come…”  
Hearing those words, Roger almost roared as if he was in the grip of anguish.  
“I didn’t know it, okay? And, even if I had been aware, don’t you think I would have tried every fuckin’ way in order to forget it?”  
John hung his head and sighed: he had anticipated that this would have been hard, but not even the worst of all his expectations could compete with what the two of them were actually feeling in that precise moment.  
He raised his head again only when his friend took his hand, forcing him to bear his gaze, and started to talk in an excited and confusing way.  
“We’re two lions – _two lions!_ The crown is upheld by two lions, don’t you remember?”  
“I can’t bear its weight anymore, Rog.” the bassist let out a heavy sigh, trying to find the right words to go on “But you – it won’t do you any harm… Remember when Freddie put it upon your head, here in Wembley, six years ago? Well – as always, he had it right.”

_They’re all ahead now_

The other man clung to his arm in a burst of desperation, squinting his eyes and shaking his head like a madman.  
“Don’t try to sell me this horseshit, John! You can’t go away like that! I won’t be able to bear its weight – I can’t do this, I can’t-”  
“The phoenix has scattered its ashes only upon one of the two lions…” John interrupted him, tenderly caressing his nape.  
Roger opened again his eyes – by now bright with tears – and yanked him for the umpteenth time.  
“You can’t do this to me… You’re killing me”  
“I’m sorry, Rog… You know I’m not doing it on purpose…”  
“And yet you’re doing it! And the agony has kept on going on for seventeen bloody years, and today you finally decided to strike the final blow! Do you really think you’re goin’ to feel any better, once you’ve handled this goddamn business?!”  
“This was not what I intended… please, don’t make all of this more difficult than what it already is…” he tried to reach him again, but the drummer pushed him away and went to sit on a stool, hiding his face in his hands.  
John sadly watched him from a corner, respecting the silence of tears.

* * *

_Can’t hope to find me_

The door’s creak startled Roger, who raised his head and revealed his eyes – still a bit swollen.  
His friend noticed – not without a hint of relief – that he had been able to restrain himself from bursting into tears: John was sure that, if he had done it, he wouldn’t have been able to stand it.  
“Where have you been?” Roger didn’t waste time in verbally attacking him, but the bass player didn’t take any offence: he knew that the tone of his voice wasn’t intentional but, instead, that it came from the inner battle that the other man was trying to tame inside himself.  
“I… I finished to pack my things and – uhm – I… I came to say goodbye, s’all.”  
“ _S’all_ , huh? Okay… goodbye, John. I’ve said my goodbye – are you happy, now?”  
“Roger, come on… Don’t be a child, you’re a 42-year-old man and-”  
“Oh, ‘ _don’t be a child_ ’! That’s rich, coming from ya! You ain’t one yourself – you, the one who treated me like a bloody little toy to use as he pleased for the last twenty years, no!”  
“Okay, listen… I’m tired – you could also say knackered… I wanted to say goodbye to you in a civil way, but clearly you’re too busy screeching in your kingdom of selfishness to agree with me… I would have surely preferred to bid you farewell in another way, but today it’s clearly not the right day. Goodbye, Roger.”  
And, thus said, he turned around and made his way to cross the doorstep, but he was immediately stopped by the tight embrace that the other man was giving him.  
“Wait! You talked about a farewell! It ain’t-it ain’t true!” Roger muttered with a glimmer of hope that pervaded his every word, willingly pronounced without any questioning inflection.  
John smiled sadly and turned around to return the hug.  
“No, you’re right… it was just an excuse to make you come back to me…”  
“You don’t need excuses to obtain this effect… I always come back to you.”  
“I know – that’s why I love you.”  
The drummer had to use all the energy he could muster up to not burst into tears, but he decided that all was not lost: if he loved him, there was still some hope left…  
He moved a bit away from John and looked him in the eye.  
“I’m the sky, I stay there – all lost in my fantasies and dumb dreams – but I need to keep my feet on the ground, John… I need to feel something beneath my feet – I need to feel that you’re there, and you’re there for me…”  
Those words shook the younger man to his very core, and he gave him a touched smile.  
“But I’ll be there, Rog. I’ll always be there for you, I promise.”  
“Are you sure?”  
“Absolutely certain – I’ll be like Freddie, I’ll follow you everywhere!”  
“Sounds like a threat…” between the sobs Roger had managed to come up with one of his famous witty lines, and John was immensely grateful for that.  
Both of them quietly laughed, knowing full well that that particular moment deserved a discreet, intimate atmosphere that even a harmless laughter would have been able to shatter.

_This song is over_

“Rog… I should really go, okay?”  
His friend pulled away with difficulty, but nevertheless freed him from that meaningful hug.  
John reluctantly found himself thinking that he could have stayed in his arms for hours and hours – days, even.  
“So… will we see each other again?”  
“Of course we will see each other, silly! You know my phone number, right? When you’ll be in trouble – of any kind – you just have to give me a call and I’ll be there with you, I swear.”  
“I’ll take your word for it.”  
The two men stood still, looking at each other, until John made disappear the distance between them and gently gave him a chaste kiss on his lips.  
It had nothing to do with the passion and lust of the past, but it perfectly captured the essence of a pure love, and that was what truly mattered.  
He knew his friend would have been able to feel it, he was sure of it.  
After they pulled apart, Roger didn’t speak anymore: he just smiled at him – because he knew that the last thing of him that the bassist would want to see was only his smile – and then finally let him go.  
The door closed, and the silence of his soul covered the screams that were still echoing throughout Wembley.  
Roger barely stifled a sob, but a dark desperation enfolded him and he couldn’t do nothing but let himself fall down, his heart torn to many little shreds.

* * *

_I’m left with only tears_

“Roger, what…?”  
The man was barely able to recognize the voice, trying to separate it distinctly from the ‘that’s why I love you’ that he had been repeating in his mind for half an hour.  
He raised his head but the tears didn’t allow him to focus on Brian’s face that, powerless, couldn’t understand the reason behind so much desperation.  
“What was it gonna take for me to tell him ‘I love you too’? Why didn’t I do it? Why did I let him go for the umpteenth time?” the other man sobbed, while his friend finally understood and hold him tight.  
“Because sometimes – even knowing that selfishness would save us – we prefer to respect the choices of the people we love… And that’s what makes us great persons, Roger. John loves you and, after this brave gesture of yours, his affection for you will only rise steeply – believe me.” 

_I must remember_

The drummer glanced at him feeling lost and, with confused voice, muttered a “How…?”  
Brian gently smiled at him, keeping a stoic silence.  
“… Freddie, innit?”  
“No, Roger: I’m an astrophysicist – I might know the sky a little, right?”  
At those words Roger let out a heartwrenching scream, that however didn’t upset the guitarist: he respected his pain and, in his own certain way, he also understood it.  
“My dear friend, always remember what I’m about to tell you: as stars are used to collide with our planet, your universe and John’s own one are fated to merge again in the years to come. And, trust me, the world will never behold a more beautiful sight than the supernova that the two of you will gift us as a perpetual demonstration of the feeling that binds you two.”

_Even if it takes a million years_

The drummer, after choking back the umpteenth scream and letting himself crying more faintly, buried his face into those wet curls and let himself being held; he could swear that, in addition to the unusually strong grasp of Brian, there was another grip, more delicate but equally _alive_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is a verse taken from _The Song Is Over_ by The Who, whose link I posted right above the fanfiction.
> 
> “ _It was an April morning when they told us we should go_  
>  _As I turn to you, you smiled at me_  
>  _How could we say no_?”
> 
> The lyrics I quoted above are from _Achilles Last Stand_ , my favorite song by Led Zeppelin that you can listen to [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P-Rf1I9htJk): in the fanfiction Roger wonders if John has chosen it to spend more time with him – after all, it lasts more than 10 frickin’ minutes! – but the truth is that my twisted brain chose it exactly for its first lines (the fanfiction is set on April 20th, 1992 so it was simply perfect to make those gay grandpas blush and mutter each other’s names)
> 
> I don’t know what else I should say: I’m still so, so immensely overwhelmed by the huge amount of kudos and comments that the first two chapters got... I’m so glad to see that this pairing is getting the attention it truly deserves and to know that you guys – for some obscure reason – seem to like the way I write about these two actual angels... also, thank you so much for all the kind messages you sent me on Tumblr – you really made my day 🌸  
> I’m sorry about the pain I made you endure throughout this fanfiction and sad that this adventure has finally come to an end, but I can also promise that I have at least a couple of ideas about Queen fanfictions that I hope I’ll start writing really soon – so this won’t be the last you’ll see of me in this section, it’s a promise!
> 
> Last but not least: thank you so much to [Mido](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midorijpg/pseuds/midorijpg), Jules, [Soraya](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrimeJive/pseuds/PrimeJive), [Morgana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ginnyx/pseuds/Jolly%20Camaleonte) and [Akimi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Akichin/pseuds/Akichin) for their support and infinite patience in dealing with me, my insane Joger/Dealor obsession and my endless procrastination: I love you, you beautiful girls! 💝
> 
> (AND GOD BLESS THE GOLDEN GLOBES FOR THOSE TWO GLORIOUS AWARDS, I’M STILL SCREAMING ABOUT IT) 
> 
> Thanks to whoever will read this/give kudos/leave a review... and long live Joger/Dealor! ✨


End file.
